Coast to coast with Colleen

"This is the longest we've been apart since we were married...." sighed Mr. Hall. Mrs. Hall gave him a big hug and tried to reassure him. "The cats will keep you company and the dog will, well.. keep you occupied. Watch over the hall; I'll be home Tuesday afternoon."
Mr. Hall slid into the big black car and streamed out of sight. He was off to the New York State Funeral Directors Association convention in Saratoga while Mrs. H. was left to finish the packing. Colleen had been busy saying goodbye to all her friends for the last three days and was now getting all misty eyed at the realization that in a few short (very short to be sure- they had scheduled to leave at 4 am!) hours she would no longer have Wookie with whom to commiserate.
At 4:15 AM they loaded up the little black car and hit the high roads. Loaded to the absolute gills with bedding, books, school supplies and munchies, the two rolled along through New York. They picked up Route 80 in PA and took that all the way into Illinois. Poor Colleen drove until she could keep her eyes open no longer and Mrs. Hall took over the last leg through Gary and Chicago. They made the trip in record time and that was no surprize; their destination that evening was Rolling Meadows and the home of host and hostess extraordinaire Mr. and Mrs. Leo Pranitis. After a wonderful dinner and lots of catching up, they headed off to bed. Up with the sun they began again, but they weren't fast enough to beat Mrs. Pranitis; they were planning their own excursion for that day and she had prepared a hearty breakfast for everyone already. As the Pranitis' went off to see the tall ships downtown, Colleen and Mrs. H. set out themselves, with full coffee mugs and lots of deli sandwiches. Waving good bye as the little black car rolled out of the driveway, they jumped into the rush hour jam and headed west.
The open road is a wonderful thing. The weather gods were with the little band so all their pictures featured clear skies and beautiful blue backgrounds. Farms whizzed by and truck stops beckoned; it seemed like there was an attraction just waiting to be seen around every corner; but the two had determined to fly like the wind, stopping only to fill the tank and drain the main sumps. Still, there were always things that held them up. In Iowa, there was a long backup because a huge recreational vehicle had just gone off the road and flipped over in the ditch. In Nebraska, they stopped to refill the gas tank and found a stray dog panting in the sun. Its tags said it was registered in Ohio. After giving it some water and turning it over to the gas station's manager who promised to take it in if its owner couldn't be found, they moved on.
Finally, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, Grand Island, NE came into view. It was easy to see that Grand Island was not one of those towns that fell prey to the usual preconceptions that country folk are uncultured bores. In fact, various corners of the town had been decorated with different organizations artistic interpretations of that classic art medium: hay bales. The voice on the GPS system (which Colleen had specifically programmed to have an Australian accent) kept telling them to go another half mile down the strip, but, happily ignoring it, the little black car with the NY plates decided to pull into the Western Store instead. They did eventually check in at the hotel. A quick dip in the pool and it was time to retire. Two days had only made a dent in their itinerary- they still had thousands of miles to go.
Next episode: Across the Western plains. Stay tuned.

A good time at Turning Stone is never a gamble

Last Friday, Katie and Erick Hall, coming in from completely different directions, descended on Marcellus together. They were just in time for the monsoon season. Starting Saturday afternoon, the rain began slowly, but by Sunday morning, it was clear ball games and picnics were going to be out of the question. Searching for the perfect diversion, Katie piped up, "How about Turning Stone Casino?"

Taxiing out the big black car, the little band joined the rest of the soggy pilgrims packed bumper to bumper on the NY State Thruway. An hour later, they rolled into the parking garage, shed their rain gear and headed for the nearest ATM. As mentioned in an earlier post, the Turning Stone Casino had recently undergone a facelift, the upside of which appeared to be more $10 minimum bet roulette tables. Scoping out the scene only briefly, they settled at a table and Katie immediately ruled the game. Doubling her investment in the short span of a half hour, they pocketed their winnings and finished a tour of the grounds.
After a delightful repast at the Peach Blossom restaurant, they resumed playing roulette. It was evident (even to the most casual observer) that it must have been the act of moving tables and changing the color of her chips that caused Katie's fortunes to start to slip. She managed to recover, however, and both Erick and Mrs. Hall came away from the games not a little heavier in the folding bills department. As the big black car slipped back home along the highway in the driving rain, the sleepy band all agreed on one thing: Katie's idea for the evening was a winner!

Perhaps this is how it came to be called squash.

Despite the fact that the weather was delightful, albeit occasionally more wet than the Halls would have liked, the poor little fledgling pumpkin out in front of the Hall perished on the vine last week. Photographic evidence shows that an invasion of worms took its toll on the infant. A brief moment of mourning was held over breakfast last Saturday, followed by a dramatic reading of an original writing by Colleen: "Eulogy: Tendrils in the Sunset- ashes to ashes, squash to squash." There wasn't a dry eye in the house when she got to the part about it being cut down in the vine of its life.

So it was with genuine delight that the early Sunday morning light brought the revelation of two new pumpkins in the works. The larger of the two is well on its way to maturity, and since a broad streak of sporting blood flows through the family veins, it is only a matter of time til book is made and odds drawn on the first to achieve full carving status. Stay tuned.

Gardening tips and tales

A few years ago, Mrs. Hall was entertaining outside in the covered porch, and as the ladies looked out over the back forty, one of them commented on the lovely pumpkins running along the length of the fence. She enquired of Mrs. H.'s technique for getting them to grow so well, and Mrs. Hall replied that it wasn't hard, but it took some planning and that you have to begin the year before.
"First, you take all the pumpkins you labored over so long with the carving, and after they get gruesome enough to elicit complaints from your neighbors, you throw them carelessly into a wheelbarrow. Then you toss the remains casually against the furthest most part of the fence, allowing the choicer parts to sort of drool down the slats into place. Though I hadn't read about this anywhere, I suppose it was noteworthy that the dogs messed around in them and ate most of the seeds, spreading the goo about fairly evenly and insuring a healthy distribution. Then you just ignore the whole thing until the following fall, when you begin to notice the trailing vines interfering with the lawn getting mown, and the children harangue you mercilessly to let them grow. Martha Stewart may have her own more widely used methods, but frankly, the results look the same in the end, and besides, I'm tired of that woman ruining my life."
The Monitor is happy to report that this method has once again proved successful in producing seasonal squashy results. Last year, on orders of Mr. Hall, young Ian removed all the pumpkins from the front porch, and in a moment of desperation to finish the job and head to the mall, he quietly dumped the wheelbarrow contents in the ruins of the old wooden planter at the end of the driveway and covered them up with leaves. Thinking no one was the wiser, he rinsed out the wheelbarrow, put it away and subsequently left for the Marines. About two weeks ago, Mr. Hall discovered the volunteer pumpkins waking up and stretching their little viney arms all along the driveway. Colleen managed to intercede for them, curling the vines so they would remain within the confines of the old planter, and just last week, Mrs. Hall discovered the budding beginnings of what will no doubt be a crackerjack jack 0'lantern.
The Monitor will continue to post updated pictures of it's progress throughout the fall. Thankfully, it's hidden under some leaves at this time, so perhaps it will survive the onset of school and any youthful pranksters. Stay tuned.

Walking the dog days of summer

"So the plane bounced twice on its wheels, veered to the left and ended up right in the giggly-weeds." Mr. Hall looked over to Mrs. Hall for her reaction. She was staring out of the windows watching the trees going by. "You know, the trees are changing color already. I think it's going to be an early fall this year." Mr. Hall sighed; he knew better. It was all he could do to keep Mrs. H's mind off the kids.
He had done his best to keep her occupied as much as possible. Last week, he accompanied her to the Onondaga-Oswego Funeral Directors Association (acronymically known as "OOFDA") Clambake over at Hinderwadel's in north Syracuse. Mrs. Hall always looks forward to that annual event eagerly, ever since the first year she won a scooter for one of the door prizes. (There are still funeral directors in the area that, recalling how she rolled around the facility on her new wheels, yell out "Hey Scooter!" when she walks by.) The food was terrific and the company even better; this year the Halls were joined by Stevie Iltsch and his lovely wife Pam. It's a cinch that nothing tastes better than a tray of freshly steamed clams on a hot summer night, and Mrs. Hall never mentioned the children once. Bon vivant and man-about-town Hugh Norris even joined them, dragging young Albert Clos into the act, for a short while. Just about the time the party was slowing down and the little band reflected that this was the first year they hadn't won any of the door prizes, they announced the winner of the 50/50 contest. Steve yelled out, "Sammie, Sammie- that's you! You won!" and Mr. Hall strolled up leisurely to the booth to collect his $250 in winnings. "There's a seat right here for you," said Bob Zamierski, former hearse driver for Mr. Hall, as he patted the bench at the poker table, but Mr. H. just smiled and waved him off.

The Eastern Star ladies had had a festival on the grounds of their old folks home in Oriskany last week as well. The Halls usually arrive early to help work the breakfast booth, but work demanded they show up a little later, and they ended up serving up lunches at the sausage booth instead. The festival at Oriskany brings out not only the well-dressed but the worthies and right worthies as well; the grand officers in the group could be distinguished by their white attire and broad smiles. Mrs. Hall waved to the Grand Matron and Patron for NY as well as the officers from her own district. "Next year, you'll be wearing white with these ladies, too," remarked Mr. Hall, proudly. "Ah, yes. Yet another good reason to go shopping!" answered Mrs. Hall. The heat was oppressive that day, so leaving the outdoor festivities to the younger set, they headed on back down the toll road towards home. Mrs. Hall was just leaning back in the big black car, indulging in the air conditioning, when she realized they weren't exactly following the flight plan. "I thought we'd stop for a short visit to the Turning Stone Casino," piped Mr. Hall brightly. Mrs. Hall patted him on the back and remarked the evening was looking up after all.

A few years back, an unfortunate flood in the Southern Tier had forced the PGA to move their BC Open venue from the En-Joie golf course in Endicott to the Turning Stone course in Verona. From that point forward, the Turning Stone never looked back. Determined to host PGA sponsored events ever more frequently, they invested heavily in world class upgrades to the resort, and the result was a much nicer, more elegant course, pro shop, lodge and of course, casino. The Halls took in a quick show and a cocktail and strolled the grounds, steering their way past four wedding events taking place at the same time. They finished up by checking out the new spa on the grounds, but by that time, Mr. Hall was so tired he couldn't even get up out of the chair. "Com'n big fellow," coaxed Mrs. Hall. "It's time to take you home." Carefully avoiding the slots and the roulette tables, they slid back into the big black car, turned on the auto pilot and cruised back home again.